Goodnight
by MTVbabe11
Summary: What if Sam went to sleep but never woke up? Please R&R! COMPLETE
1. Awake

**Note: This is my first fanfic, please R & R! It takes place anytime after Wendigo and before Home.**

**Rating: PG for some language**

**Disclaimers: I don't own Sam and Dean, nor do I own Supernatural. Sigh**

**Summary: What if Sam went to sleep, but never woke up?**

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Dean Winchester always drove, and Sam always sat passenger.

Dean pressed PLAY on his radio and blasted mullet rock. Sam looked away from the window only long enough to glare at him and his music choice.

"Don't you have any current rock?" Sam asked. "Green Day? System of a Down?"

"Can't hear you," Dean answered, turning the volume up from 7 to 8.

"Where are we going, anyway?"

"Where ever the wind takes up," Dean responded. The last few days were awful-nothing but open, cracked road and a few shady gas stations. The last time they slept somewhere decent was Sunday night, and today was Thursday.

"I think the winds taking us to the diner," hinted Sam, pointing out a medium sized diner titled "Wake up." Deans searched his memory—something about this town seemed familiar, mainly that diner. But he let it leave his mind, after all, it was the first town for miles.

"You read my mind!" Dean said pulling into the parking lot. He parked the door, locked it, and patted the car. "Don't worry I'll be back soon" he told the car. Sam rolled his eyes and the two entered the diner and sat down at a booth, across from each other.

A waitress walked over. She had curly blond hair tied up in a ponytail, and bright green eyes with long eyelashes. Her outfit was tight, her teeth grinded but white.

"What can I get you boys?" she asked with a flirty smile. Sam glanced at the menu than at her.

"I'll have coffee and pancakes," Sam told her.

"I'll have waffles and . . ." Dean eyed her denim clad legs with a flirty smile. ". . . A coffee."

"Sure, anything else?" the waitress asked them. Sam checked to see how much money was on him.

"A bacon side," Sam added. The waitress put the pencil behind her ear. "You got it," she said. The waitress spun around, letting her blonde hair slide out of its low ponytail, and letting the scrunchie land onto their table. Dean whistled.

"Now that's a flirty girl," Dean declared. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Dean, she must be what, 17 years old?" Dean sighed. He stood and took a newspaper from a stack here the door and began to flip through the pages. He circled an Ohio murder.

"Look like our kind of thing?" Sam took the article and read through it quickly.

"Have you even read this article?" Sam asked him, pushing the article away.

"Of course, Sammy," Dean answered. Sam nodded with a smile.

"Than you'd know that they already found the murderer." Dean smiled a sheepish grin.

"Who needs reading when I got you?" he asked, flipping to the next page. The waitress came back, holding two coffee's on a brown platter. She placed both cups down in front of the brothers, than added a few packs of sugar and milk. She stared at Dean for a moment.

"You look familiar," the waitress said finally. Dean cocked his head and gave her _the_ smile.

"You too-"Dean started, but suddenly she exclaimed:

"Are you Dean Winchester?" she exclaimed. Dean and Sam exchanged looks. Then he nodded with a tight lipped grin. The waitress was getting excited now. "You and your father saved my sisters life!"

"Oh," Dean replied in a surprised sort of way. "And, uh, when was this?"

"Four years ago. When I was 14. My dads name is Kevin Hucksin, I'm Josie Hucksin? The Cothway Barn, remember?" Josie asked him, a broad smile breaking her face. Dean thought.

_"When was the last time you saw your daughter?" John asked. Kevin looked to Josie, who was shivering. She zipped up her sweatshirt._

_"She said she was going to the Cothway Barn with Nick. Than when she came back . . ."Josie trailed off, squirming in the hospital's old chair. Dean looked at his dad._

_"Possession?" he whispered in a low voice. John gave a small nod, but it could be for Dean or Josie. Or both._

_"I think we can help you," John finally told the worried parents._

"I remember that," Dean told Josie.

"This one's on the house," she said, going off to collect their breakfasts. Sam turned to Dean questionably.

"Her sister—Karla, I think—went into that barn and came out possessed. We saved the girl, and of course, the family knows our job now. I think the mom actually owns this diner. The dad's some kind of dream doctor. Maybe you should see him." Sam ignored the last comment.

"You remember a case from 4 years old?" Sam asked doubtfully "It didn't have to with Josie?" Dean held up his hands in surrender.

"I can remember all of my cases," Dean said. Than Josie came back with two heaping platters of food, and silence took over.

That night, after Dean said hi to Josie's entire family, they settled down in a hotel. Dean took off his shirt and grabbed the remote control. Laying down on one of the two twin beds, he began to flip through the channels.

"I was getting freakin' tired of motels," he said happily. Sam shook his head and turned the TV off before heading to his own bed.

"I'm heading to bed."

"Aw, come on! This TV has 200 channels!"

"'Night, Dean.

"Goodnight Sam."

Sam flipped the switch, but it was Dean who fell asleep as soon as he crawled into bed. And when Sam did fall asleep . . .

_Jessica was pinned to the ceiling._

_Burning._

_Mangled._

_Bloody._

_Dead._

Sam woke with a scream. Dean sat up, leaning on his elbows for support.

"What?" Dean asked in a groggy voice. Sam rolled over, thankful for the dark where his burning cheeks were invisible.

"Oh, uh, sorry Dean. It's nothing." Dean would have normally leapt out of bed and demanded Sam tell him what happened, but several days on little sleep was taking a toll on Dean. Thank God for lack of motels.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam lied. Dean lay back on his bed and Sam could hear the rustle of covers.

"Good. I was having a dream about that waitress's older sister." Sam rolled his eyes and wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. Dean was asleep in seconds.

Then the window opened a crack with a low hiss of a _creak_. Wind rushed in and seemed to go straight to Sam, snaking around him. Sam sunk lower into his covers, pulling them around him. Yet somehow the wind seemed to go inside the covers, inside Sam. The wind was invisible yet he knew it raced around him, diving to his chest.

And Sam slept.

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**Thanks! Please review!**


	2. Sleeping

**Authors note: I told myself not to post this chapter, but I was so happy with it that I wrote it anyway and now I'm posting it. I don't own Sam, Dean, or Supernatural. Please R&R.**

There was a ringing in Dean's ears.

He opened his eyes and instantly saw the phone ringing its freaking' head off. With a groan Dean snatched the hotel phone off its cradle and pressed it to his ear.

"What?" he asked. There was a pause on the other line.

"Uh, this is your morning wake up call. You set one up, its 8:30. "Good morning!" the voice said in an annoyingly peppy voice

"Yeah, whatever," Dean replied, slamming the phone down. He crawled out of bed and stared at Sam's sleeping form in disbelief. Sam had stayed sleeping long enough for the wake up call to be used?

With a half shrug, Dean lumbered over to the bathroom and turned the shower on with the water burning hot.

When he came off, his hair damp, Sam was still sleeping. But he slept more restlessly now, turning over every once in a while and breathing deeply. As Dean walked by Sam's bed, he yelled, "Rise and shine Sammy!"

There was no answer.

Dean peered at Sam for a moment, than repeated it a little louder. Sam continued to toss and turn, blankets flying about. Dean walked over and put a green t-shirt over his bare chest. Than Dean picked up a pillow and tossed it. It landed on Sam's head.

"Wake up!" Dean shouted. "Fine. Whatever, Sammy." Dean grabbed one of the hotel keys and went to get breakfast.

After flirting with the cute server, he came up with two plates piled with pancakes and bacon. He plopped the plates down on a wooden desk, and took two Coke's out. It had been an hour, and still Sam slept.

But Sam was different. He was wildly thrashing about the bed, the covers in a tumbled heap on the floor. Smiling to himself, Dean filled a glass with icy water and poured it on Sam's head. Sam coughed and sputtered, his hair sticking to his forehead, but Sam still slept.

Dean felt a chill go down his spine as wind poured into the room. He closed the window and walked over to Sam. He hit Sam several times, yelled, and threw pillows-anything he could think of to wake Sam. Finally, he felt Sam's pulse. Rapid, but nothing horrible. He consulted Dad's journal, flipping through the pages. Was this supernatural? Or some weird, coma like illness?

Than Dean came upon the following words

**_Dream spirits & demons:_**

**_Call Kevin Hucksin_**

**_789-283-869_**

Kevin Hucksin, as in Josie's dad? Dean picked up the phone and quickly dialed . . .

7…8…9

What was wrong with Sam?

2...8...3...

Did this have to do with all the nightmares Sam was having?

8…6...9…

Would this even help?

On the third ring, the phone was picked up by a woman with a hoarse voice. "I need to speak with Dr. Hucksin. Just tell him its-its Dean Winchester," Dean told the woman.

"Please hold," she answered with a cough. A moment later, Kevin energetically greeted him. Dean waited patiently as Kevin exclaimed how he heard from his wife that Dean was in town, and what could they do for Dean?

"Actually, I need your help," Dean interrupted. He quickly explained the situation, and when he was done, there was an eerie silence on the other end.

"I see," Kevin slowly replied. "Where'd you say you were staying? I'll be over in a few minutes." And sure enough, a few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Dean opened it and Kevin stepped in.

Kevin looked very different. When they had last met, the man had had dark brown hair covering his thin face. He had worn glasses over very warm eyes. With a lean body, Kevin had been handsome in a fatherly kind of way. Now, several years later, Kevin's hair had parted in the middle for a small bald spot to appear. The thin face and lean body had faded away to a slightly heavier body. All in all, Kevin was Kevin and Dean was glad to see the fatherly figure.

He was also carrying a brown duffle bag, which turned out to be full of books. Some books were thin, some worn, some thick with large words. The books were something Sam would have taken interest in. Sam could find the information in those books in seconds.

Suddenly Dean was overcome with sadness and fear. Sam was only a few steps away, yet he was as far as could be. What was that line? _So close, yet so far. _What had Sam done to deserve all this? What had Sam done to make this misery follow him?

Kevin sat down on Dean's bed and began to look through the bag of books. "A few years back, I came across a particularly difficult patient. I was looking through all sorts of books, and eventually came upon this dream myth book. Now, it turned out that the myth book didn't help at all, but I flipped-aha!" Kevin took out a book. It was worn but underused, its brown cover had faded words and the spine was falling apart.

Kevin was now thumbing through the pages. "I came across this spirit that sticks in my mind because it was so _interesting. _If I can just find it. I think it could have to do with Sam," he explained. There was another silence, and then Kevin cried "Aha!" once more. With a clear of his throat, the doctor read aloud, "_One of the most interesting dream demons would have to be the one I shall describe to you; until now it has remained nameless, but for the sake of the reader I shall call it a Catcher. The Catcher has no shape, and if you saw one, there's no real way to tell what it is. That's because a Catcher is fluid in shape and color, changing as it pleases. Most often it takes the shape of wind, and you can't exactly capture the wind. The Catcher is attracted to people who have particularly bad and frequent nightmares. It traps the person's mind in one of there nightmares, and while their body lay useless, the Catcher will feed off its life. When the person dies, the person's mind is permanently trapped in the nightmare for eternity."_

Dean stared speechless at Kevin, who looked a bit flustered himself.

"It goes on to describe how to communicate with a person alive but trapped--place two fingers on your heart, than on your forehead, than on the person's forehead. Than you talk in a strong, steady voice and hope you'll hear their voice in answer-" Kevin began.

"Just tell me what I have to do to save Sam," Dean insisted. Kevin read ahead quickly, his eyes scanning the wrinkled pages.

"It's actually quite interesting," Kevin finally responded. "The victim has to face not only the 'Catcher' but the fea-" At this point, there a low _hiss_ of wind. Than something black rose out of Sam. It constantly changed shape, fluid as water yet as deadly as poison. It hovered in the air for a second, than flung itself at Kevin.

Kevin's eyes glazed over and his body tensed. He fell to the ground as the myth book disappeared into black flames.

He fell and did not move.

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please review.**


	3. Helpless

**Author's Note: To everyone to reviewed my story-thank you! I don't own Supernatural/Sam/Dean, nor Google or yahoo which I'm mentioning in this.**

* * *

For a moment Dean stood transfixed.

It rose away from Kevin, from the burning books, from the black flames. Than Dean grabbed his gun and shot-but the bullet went right through it, making no mark on the thing. Than it burst open, wind spraying all around, circling Sam, than disappearing as quickly as it had came. For one brief moment, Dean thought that perhaps the thing had left Sam.

He should have known better.

Dean raced over to Sam, shaking him several times. Nothing. Sam turned around to his other side, his breathing shallow and fast. Then Dean raced over to Kevin, kneeling down and checking his pulse. _Don't let him be dead,_ Dean urgently thought. _Don't let his family go without a dad 'cause of me._

There was a pulse, slow and steady.

Dean let out a sigh of relief. Kevin was in a coma, but he wasn't dead. _Yet. _After a quick 911 phone call, Kevin was brought to the hospital after having a strange "stroke." And Dean was alone again, without the myth book to help him. _Sam's the one to research. _Dean thought bitterly as he turned the laptop on.

A quick Google search led to nothing, so he tried one on yahoo. Out of interest he clicked on a college essay on dream myth. Dean read through it slowly, trying not to miss anything. Than he saw a reference to the Catcher, a small but helpful one:

_**As you can now see, most dream spirits have a shape, a weakness, a job. According to the few legends and books on this matter, there is only one that stands out. Nicknamed Catcher by George K. Jimson, it had no shape or weakness. Its one of the few that can be defeated with words, not fists.**_

Dean leaned back in his chair, his feet pushing on the legs of the hotel desk. This was not like any of the jobs he had done before. It wasn't just personal, it was rare. He flipped through the journal, looking for anyone he could call, any of Dad's friends. But the only one listed was Kevin, who couldn't exactly help right now.

Then he remembered what Kevin had said. How to talk to Sam. _I'll start there,_ he decided. He approached Sam's restless form.

"This has to be the corniest thing ever," Dean muttered, placing two fingers on his heart and then on his forehead. Dean than placed the two fingers on Sam.

"Sam, can you hear me?" he asked in a strong voice.

* * *

Sam struggled to lift himself off the muddy ground. And when he did, he saw someone he didn't want to see.

Jessica.

But was it really Jessica? She wasn't wearing the kind of pajamas she wore around Sam. She had a long white nightgown, tattered at the bottom. Blood covered its middle, dry, horrible blood. Her hair rippled down her back, out of her face yet framing it at the same time. But her eyes. Her normally beautiful eyes seemed empty and dark.

"It's your fault Sam," she hissed. _Hissed?_ Jessica didn't hiss. "You left me and this is what happens." Sam stared, horrified yet not wanted her to leave. He wanted so much to kiss her, to hold her. "You can't hold me, Sam. Never again." He felt his legs give out, he sunk to his knees and had difficulty pulling himself back up. She laughed as she watched. "You never could take responceibuilty for your actions.

"I had to leave," Sam whispered. "I didn't want to. I had to."

"You had to, Sam?" Jessica asked. "You had to let me die? You didn't even find your dad that weekend! _You killed me for nothing."_ Sam was on his feet now. He turned around to walk away, run even, and she was there, pressed up against him. But it didn't feel warm, it didn't feel right. It just felt cold.

She had on the same outfit she had on when he left. The seductive pj's used to lure him in. This wasn't Jessica though. Was it? Sam's thoughts were going crazy, they were jumbled.

_Jessica would never but you killed her this isn't her cant be could be you deserve it run. run. leave._

Sam took off running, a storm filling the sky and sending flashes. He stumbled and kept going, finally stopping behind some random tree to catch is breath and think.

"Sam, can you hear me?" came Dean's voice. Sam jumped, looking around widely for Dean.

"Dean?" he asked hesitantly. "Where are you?" When Dean spoke next, there was relief evident in his voice.

"Sammy, I'm not in your dream. Don't look for me," Dean answered. The voice still was coming from no where. It was next to Sam but Dean wasn't there. Dream. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Sam knew it was a dream.

"What's going on?" Sam questioned. Dean took a deep breath and explained it all. The "Catcher." The nightmare. Kevin. Everything.

"So you think that I have to face what's in here, and then face the thing that's doing this to me?" Sam asked at the end. There was no reply for a moment.

"I think so, Sammy. I'm not really sure what else there is to do. I'm going to go do more research, but I'll be back, okay?" Dean replied. Sam didn't want Dean to leave. He needed him.

"Dean--just hurry. This place . . . its messed up, man," Sam finally said.

"It'll be ok. Just remember. Nothing in there can actually hurt you. We're gonna stop this thing before it does."

With that Dean was gone. Sam knew Dean was gone, somehow he could feel it.

* * *

"It'll be ok. Just remember. Nothing in there can actually hurt you. We're gonna stop this thing before it does," Dean assured Sam. With that, he slowly removed his two fingers and walked back to the laptop.

A half hour later and he found a site that had a "guidebook" to dream spirits. Smiling at his luck and new research skills, Dean scrolled down to the section on this thing.

Then he heard a _hiss_ of wind.

Dean looked behind his shoulder and saw wind sweeping about the room. Quickly, Dean started to read.

_**Called Catcher by some**_

That was as far as Dean got before he felt a burning on his hand. He jerked his hand off the mouse and saw a black flame under it. As the laptop burning, Dean jumped up and saw the wind was now around him. He heard voices, fragments of sentences.

"Knows to much-"

"Inside-"

"Too late-"

Than it knocked into him, sending Dean flying to the floor. He couldn't move. Than he couldn't see, or hear, smell, or talk, or feel. This was what Dean feared. To be completely alone with his thoughts, isolated, never knowing if anyone knew what happened to him. Not dead or alive.

He felt as if his mind was slowly shutting down. _It's doing to me what it's done to Sam,_ he realized. There was no hope now. If Dean wasn't awake, how would they be safe? Dean knew that if he could hear, his heart would be pounding. Dean was being sent into his own nightmare.

Somewhere in his head, right before his mind was shut down, a voice whispered, "Not quiet."

**_

* * *

_Author's Note: Sorry if that was a little long! Please review, thanks!**


	4. Mom

**Author's Note: Again, thanks for reading and reviewing, I don't own Supernatural/Sammy/Dean, and here's my next chapter.**

* * *

Dean stumbled to his feet and looked around. 

He was in some kind of graveyard, but the gravestones were worn down and scarce. The ground had more dirt than grass, and the grass there was a pale green, a dieing green. But before Dean could look around more he smelt the deep, bitter, smell of smoke that he hated so much. Whirling around, he saw a circle of fire surrounding a tall figure.

Sammy.

Dean ran forward to the flames, trying to see through to Sam. For some reason, his brother didn't seem to notice the flames. There was something else in there. "Sam!" Dean screamed. There was no answer. Very tentatively, Dean touched a flame. Nothing. So Dean threw himself into the flames.

* * *

There were faces in the flames. 

Jessica, Dean, Dad, Mom. They were only the four people--besides a few college friends--that he would die to save. And he could see their faces in the flames dieing. He saw the agony, their bodies fall, their breath stop, all of it. Sam didn't understand and didn't want to. He wanted to fall down and go to sleep, not see all of this.

Dean?

How was Dean in the flames, dead, but right next to him? "Dean!" Sam yelled. Dean scrambled to his feet and grabbed Sam's arm.

"The fire won't hurt you," he assured Sam. "Just jump!" Sam allowed Dean to lead him out of the flames, causing strange shiver to cover his entire body. Once the brothers were out, the fire died down until all that remained were four gravestones.

Dean approached them, eying them, particularly the one that read his own name.

"Dude," Dean said in disgust. "Your nightmares suck." He surveyed the area. "I'm guessing you didn't make any progress?"

"I guess not," Sam agreed. Than he froze. How did he know that this was even the 'real' Dean? Why would Dean even be here? There's no possible way this wasn't some fake Dean. Sam stepped away.

"What?" Dean asked, turning around to see Sam's expression. When Sam spoke next, his voice sounded paranoid and only half sane.

"You're not really Dean," Sam accused. "You're just . . . another nightmare." Dean looked taken back. Quickly, he explained what happened. _Impossible . . ._ Sam found himself thinking.

Dean walked over to Sam and put his arms on Sam's shoulders. "Sam, I swear I'm really Dean. I'm really here." Sam didn't respond, but for whatever reason, he didn't pull away.

"How do I really know?" Sam whispered, finally pulling away. Dean seemed to be searching his mind for something, anything to help. And secretly, Sam wanted Dean to prove he was real because Sam wanted Dean here.

"You know because you know me. Dude. Why else would I save your ass back there? You want proof, here's your proof. I'm your older brother, and I'm never, _ever_, going to let anything happen to you." Sam paused and smiled. This was Dean.

"Dean," he breathed in a relieved voice.

"About time," Dean scoffed. He leaned back on a rotting tree and thought. "You know what you got to do. You gotta face whatever's in here. That's the first thing to do. Now tell me, what the hell is in here?"

"Everything. There's-there's Jessica; and Dad; and Mom; and you-"

"Me?" Dean asked in disbelief. Sam chose to ignore him.

"--and just ghosts and stuff in general."

"Ok then. Let's start with whatever's easiest," Dean decided. Now Sam really had to think. What could he face? Not Jessica. Not now, not ever. Mom? That couldn't be hard.

"Maybe, maybe uh Mom," Sam answered. Dean nodded.

"Ok, let's go find Mom."

"It doesn't work that way," Sam warned him. "It's more like, they find you. It's a nightmare. You can't control a nightmare."

"Speaking of controlling nightmares, what I want to know is does this thing control the nightmare, or just trap you here?" Dean asked to no one in particular.

"The second one," Sam replied instantly. "You just can't control them.

* * *

Dean checked his cell phone over. Looked okay. Sam and Dean had decided to split up--something Dean was against--and search the place. Both had cell phones, right now working, on them. "I don't like it," Dean had announced after Sam suggested it. But Sam said they didn't have much time, right? And the cells work, right? Even Deans "no frigen way" look wouldn't stop stubborn Sam once he decided to split up. 

So, here Dean was.

"Sam." Dean whirled around to see a ghostly Jessica watching him. She walked over with the same supernatural speedhe had seen so often. "You destroyed me Sam. Slow. And painfully. And-" Dean wouldn't let her finish.

"Hey sweetheart, your boyfriends not here right now. Its Dean," he corrected her. Jessica froze for a minute. Suddenly she held a gun.

"Same difference," she hissed, and she pulled the trigger shooting Dean right in the heart.

* * *

Sam wasn't sure how he found it so fast, but he saw his old house in front of him. 

"Hey Toto, I think we're in Kansas," he muttered to himself. Lawrence, Kansas. Home to world's worst memories and worst tragedies.

Slowly he opened the door and stepped inside. Somehow it looked familiar, he realized, as he climbed the stairs. And somehow, he knew that room right there was the room to his nursery.

Sam walked into thenursery and glanced around. There was his old cradle. He walked over, running his hand over the old cradle, and suddenly, he saw himself as a baby inside the cradle. What was wrong with his hand? It felt different. He looked outside. It was night. He looked in a mirror.

He was his father.

Sam-(John? No, he was still Sam, right?)-stared in confusion. This had never happened before. He looked back down at himself as a baby, and then a drop of blood fell on his hand.

_Two drops of blood on his forehead made him open his eyes and face the horrible truth on the ceiling._

He looked up to see his mom on the ceiling. Her eyes seemed hollow as she drew in one breath.

"Marry!" John screamed. But the scream had come from _Sam's _mouth. She burst into flames. Suddenly, baby Sam was gone. Sam was Sam. It was day.

And Marry stood in the room.

**Author's Note: Sorry if it was a little slow, I needed to get some information in. Please review, thanks. And in case you don't understand, Dean's in Sam's nightmare now.**


	5. Dad

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**Author's Note: Thanks to all who reviewed, and I still say please review to those who haven't! ) Here's the next chapter.**

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* * *

**

Dean was more in shock than anything else--but after a moment, he saw he wasn't hurt. Just a killer headache. He struggled to his feet, and saw that Dean wasn't in the graveyard anymore and Jessica was gone. He was next to a pool of water, maybe a lake, and the water was deep and dark.

_Ring, ring, ring, ring_

He quickly grabbed his cell phone, and flipped it open. "Sam?" Dean asked.

"I'm in our old house," came Sam's voice. Sam sounded different-tired, worn.

"And?" Dean asked. He peered around the area, which was covered in small bushes. Could be hard to get through, since they were tangled together. Standing on his toes, Dean could see a small town off in the distance. He found himself walking to the town as Sam spoke.

"I saw Mom. She accused me of being the cause of her death--said she knew more than I did. But I faced her, and she's gone now," Sam explained. Dean stopped short. _She knew more than they do._ Mom had confirmed his suspicions--she knew what was going on.

"Good for you," Dean forced himself to say. "Where you headed to now?

"I don't know yet, you run into anyone?" Dean paused, and he carefully chooses his words when he spoke. A first for Dean.

"Yeah . . . Jessica. Now I dunno where the hell I am," Dean replied. That was enough. He had learned this rule when talking about Jessica: keep it fast, short, and don't let Sam dwell on it. There was a silence on the other end.

"I got to go," Sam suddenly said.

"Why?" But Sam had already hung up. Dean cursed and stuffed the cell phone into his jacket pocket. Than he trudged through the bushes on his way to the town.

* * *

"Yeah . . . Jessica. Now I dunno where the hell I am," Dean replied. Sam didn't want to think about Jessica, There was no way he could face her. Because he would always feel guilty, and nothing could change that.

Suddenly, Sam saw something out of the corner of his eye. A figure stooped over, moving fast. It had walked past the nursery door, rushing somewhere, a gun in hand. "I got to go!" Sam told Dean in a quiet voice, pocketing the cell phone. Walking slowly and carefully, Sam made his way to the door and looked down the hallway. Nothing.

He followed the hallway to the only open door. He peaked into the room, and saw the figure.

Dad.

_Get it over with!_ A voice in his head screamed. _You have to face him eventually, just do it now. _So Sam stepped into the room.

"Hey, Dad," Sam exclaimed. Dad turned. But this wasn't Dad, it couldn't be, it wasn't. Because this man was drunk and crazed-Sam knew that look, rare as Dad had it.

"Sammy!" Dad greeted in a slurred voice. Still toying the gun he made his way over. "Shouldn't you be at college?" The tone had changed instantly to a harsh accusing one. Sam knew he had to choose his words carefully--he wasn't sure who this was. It was a dream.

"Not right now," Sam responded in the same careful tone. Dad had the gun out now, casually pointed at Sam.

"You comin' back to us then? I thought I told you not to come back," Dad accused. Sam held his hands up in surrender.

"I had every right to college. Every right," he declared. Now the gun was against Sam's head--it had happened suddenly. The cold of the gun sent chills down his spine.

"You left us."

_I wish Dean was here,_ Sam realized. Why? How would Dean help?

Dean was always there for Sam. When Sam was sick, hadn't it been Dean who stayed up half the night helping him? When Sam was scared, hadn't it been Dean hugging him?

"Mom would have wanted me to go." That did it. Dad whirled his hand back and smacked Sam. There was a deep pain in his head-a strange tingling feeling. Dad had just done what he had come so close to doing years ago.

_"You're not going," Dad told him sternly. There was no room to bargain, no question in Dad's voice._

_"You can't do this!" Sam yelled. "I have the grades, I can go! I WANT TO HAVE A LIFE!"_

_"You have a life! Working with us!" he countered, anger swelling._

_"Do you think Mom would want us to be brought up as warriors? Do you think Mom would want me to have just a high school degree?"_

_Dad whirled his hand back and swept it forward, aiming for Sam's face. He winced and pulled back, just as Dad pulled back his hand too. Then in a stony voice, Dad said, "I'll never know what she would have wanted. That thing killed her."_

"I know I did the right thing. You don't scare me," Sam insisted. Dad paused.

"I've always been disappointed in you. Dean's the good 'lil soldier, the good son. You think you're a rebel, but you came with Dean to find me." He smiled a toothy grin. "You love me, but I don't love you.

"No." That was the best Sam could do. "No."

_No, I rebelled against you and always will._

_No, I came with Dean because I had to._

_No, I know you love me._

_You might be disappointed in me, and I might love you, but no, you're wrong._

His eyes were squeezed shut. This was going to end, now. When Sam opened his eyes, the room was empty.

* * *

Dean had gotten to the town much more quickly than he thought he would. The town seemed to be completely empty. The wind was cold and sharp here, sweeping the streets. And the voices . . . the voices that haunted the streets . . .

_It won't be long now,_ the voices said. _Soon Sam will be dead and Dean with him. It won't be long now._

_They'll be dead soon enough._

* * *

**Author's Note: Hmm, I'm not happy with this chapter. Please review! Thanks!**


	6. Jessica

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! Only a few more chapters left. I don't own Sam, Dean, or Supernatural. (**

* * *

With a sigh of relief, Sam kicked his Dad's fallen gun to the side and left the room. He just wanted to get out of the house. Before Sam knew it, he was running. Running from the past and running from the future. Finally, he doubled over and caught his breath. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

"Watcha running from?" Still breathing deeply, Sam whirled around to see Jessica leaning against a tree, clad in tight blue jeans and a seductive pink top. Her hair fell-no, rippled-down her back. Once again, Sam was overtaken by her beauty, his longing for her. His first instinct was to run again, leave, just get out. _You have to face her eventually _he reluctantly decided.

She walked forward, swinging her hips as she smiled showing each pearly white tooth_. Just don't give in_, Sam reminded himself_. It's not really Jessica. It's not really Jessica._

"I've figured out what you can do to repay me," she told him.

"Yeah, what?" Sam asked. He refused to take a step back. He wouldn't.

"Well, I mean, it's your fault I'm dead. So I think its only fair that you die to," Jessica reasoned. Sam made himself shake his head. He couldn't let Dean die just because he's not strong. He had to face Jessica. His cell phone was ringing, but Sam ignored it.

"No," Sam said. "No."

* * *

As soon as the wind died down, Dean sat on the curb and dialed Sam's cell number. It rang for a while. Dean's insides squirmed. Sam always picked up. _Always._ Dean had never even heard Sam's voice mail before--and when Dean heard it, he wished he hadn't.

_"Hey, you've reached Sam-" "And Jessica!" "It's my cell phone. As I was saying, I can't-" "We!" "-come to the phone right now. Leave a message!" "Kisses!"_

Hearing Sam and Jessica's message--probably made while they were only half sober, at some midnight club--made Dean feel surprisingly sad. For Jessica. She didn't do anything but date Sammy.

* * *

"It's fair, Sammy. Admit that," she said with a coy smile and shrug. No. It's not. Dean didn't do anything. Dean shouldn't die. "He dragged you away from me, didn't he?"

"You can't scare me," Sam said suddenly. "Know why?"

"No, why?" She came closer and stared at Sam with her deep, angry eyes.

"Because you're not really Jessica." There was a pause. Sam wasn't following the script, he wasn't sinking to his knees, no tears left his eyes, no fear stood out in his voice.

"Of course I am," the girl insisted. But she wasn't.

"No. You . . . you represent my sorrow for Jessica. My guilt, sadness-all of that. But you're not her. If Jessica came into my dreams, I'd know. I'd recognize her." She stood up straighter, as if showing off her power. The girl tucked a strand of hair behind a pierced ear, and directed all of her power at Sam.

"How would you know I'm not her? You can't imagine Jessica, me, angry and sad. But then again, I couldn't picture you leading me to a fiery death," she retorted. The speech struck Sam for a moment--but then he reminded himself that she was wrong. He would know.

Because Sam had loved Jessica.

Because Sam still did.

"Your not Jessica, you never will be, and you won't scare me." Black flames were attacking her as he won. But the sight of seeing this girl who looked like Jessica, burning, made Sam cringe. And that was all it took for the flames to go away and his win to be short-lived.

"I knew it," she hissed. "You had lied."

"I believe every word I said," Sam promised. "You're not Jessica. You're not Jessica. You're not Jessica. You're not Jessica." Now Sam was muttering it desperately, and sure enough, the flames returned. They ate her up, covering the girl.

"I'm not really good!" she screamed as she faded away. "I'll always be here! ALWAYS!" And somehow, as the flames died down, Sam knew it was true.

* * *

Dean angrily shoved the cell phone into his pocket and surveyed the town. Completely useless. Than he heard a noise-the sound of a gun shot. But then his cell phone rang, and the shot disappeared from his thoughts.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed as soon as Dean flipped open the phone.

"What the hell happened?" Dean demanded, but he heard the relief in his voice. Sam quickly explained, and Dean was struck with pride.

He didn't know what to say. Sam won in the battle vs. Jessica. So Dean cleared his throat. "That's great." Dean was walking when he heard a gasp for breath that didn't come from the phone. He followed the noise to a warehouse and peaked in.

"But what's left to face?" Sam thoughtfully asked.

Seeing the figure in the shop, Dean took a deep breath and spoke in a shaky voice.

"I think I know what's next."

**Author's Note: And there's the chapter. Please review! I'm very curious to see what people think of this chapter.**


	7. Dean and Dean

**Author's Note: Thank you all for reviewing! I don't own Dean, Sammy, Supernatural, or any of the other characters. **

"Who?" Sam asked impatiently. Dean shifted uncomfortably as he gazed at the figure in the warehouse. "Dean, who?"

The warehouse was big compared to the rest of the stores, but still fairly small. Its ceiling was high and dark, the lights glowing on the walls barely reaching its tiles. Covering the sides of the warehouse were dusty boxes and various items. Smaller boxes had been placed in random places through the center, making it like a small maze. And right near the door laid some kind of dream Dean. The fake Dean had a bloody gash on his face, and blood freely spilled out of onto the floor. Dean picked up his shoe to find sticky blood covering it. The fake Dean was dead.

"Me."

"Dean, what are you talking about?"

"Me," Dean repeated. He quickly told Sam what he had seen. "You gotta face me next. Not _me. _Like, the uh, fake me." There was a silence at the other end. Sam knew this was coming--as much as they both would like to pretend it wasn't.

"I guess so. Maybe we should meet back up?" Sam suggested, instantly changing the subject. Giving the fake Dean a last look, he left the warehouse and began the walk back to the front of the strange town.

"Sounds good." Dean sprinted the rest of the way, than examined the distance. He could just make out the outline of the graveyard's front gate. "Let's meet in the graveyard."

"Yeah . . . and Dean?"

"What?"

"We don't have much time left, do we?"

"Stop talking and start walking.

"Stop it; just tell me what's going on."

"Yeah, Sam, we don't have a lot of time, okay?"

"Thanks." There was another awkward silence before Sam hung up.

Sam sighed and put the cell phone back in his pocket; and walked over to the graveyard. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he waited. Nothing happened for another ten minutes. And then--

--and then there was the sharp sound of a gun going off, followed by gasping. Sam turned to see Dean sprawled out on the grass with blood streaming away from him.

"No!" Sam screamed. He rushed over, kneeling besides Dean. It took him a moment to realize this couldn't be Dean. But still, the sight of Dean dieing on the ground sent shivers down his spine. Slowly, Sam stood and stepped back.

"Freak," Dean muttered. Again, Sam turned to see Dean standing there. But this time it was the _real_ Dean, standing by the gate.

"Dean!" Sam raced over, and then stopped awkwardly. Dean's eyes drifted over the figure lying on the ground. He walked over and gave the fake Dean a kick.

"There's something you don't see every day," Dean murmured. He turned back to Sam, who despite himself had a small smile on his face.

"Is that it?" Sam asked. "Is that all I had to face." Dean considered.

"No. There's more," he answered confidently. _Oh-kay..._Sam found himself thinking. Dean began to walk away from the front gate, following the forest. "This is where you found our old house, right? This way?" Sam nodded. Dean stopped and peered down the trail surrounded by tall trees.

"There were some other houses near it. You think we should there?" Dean gave a half shrug as a response, but be began down the trail. Sam rushed to keep up. "So what do we do after I face, uh, dream you?" Again, Dean considered.

"Let's take it one step at a time," Dean suggested. Sam pressed his lips together and nodded. It was the best they could do, at the time, not look at the future or past. Stick to the present.

"I think we should speed up. You did say that we don't have a lot of time left," Sam reminded him.

"What are you talking about? We have tons of time. This thing works slowly," Dean corrected him. Didn't Dean say they were running out of time? Sam had listened so carefully to his response.

_Yeah, Sam, we don't have a lot of time, okay? _

_Dean had at first walked to the graveyard, but as he got closer, closer to the end of his long trip, he found himself running. Run, run, run. Every time his foot pounded down onto the ground he heard words. Run. Time. Life. Death. _

Sam.

When he finally got to the graveyard's gate, no one was there. _Don't panic,_ Dean assured himself. _Give Sammy some time._

And Dean did give Sam some time. 10 minutes of time. But still he didn't show.

_Calm down,_ Dean thought urgently. _There could be more than one graveyard. Maybe you're in the wrong one. No, this looks familiar. This is the one. So maybe Sam's the one who found the wrong place. Just pick up your cell and call him._

Dean flipped open his cell phone and pressed speed dial to call Sam, only to be greeted by the words NO SERVICE and the fast sound of a small beep. Examining the area, Dean spotted something lying on the floor next to a grave. The ground was stained with sticky blood-identical to the blood still sticking to Dean's sneaker. So, fake Dean had been there.

_Fake Dean would only appear if someone was there to see him. If I didn't see the fake me, then Sam must have. Sam must have been here. And Sam wouldn't just leave; he knows the dead me is a trick. I told him._

Dean wasn't sure how he knew. Call it a guess. Call it crazy. But Dean somehow knew.

The only way Sam would leave was if Dean was with him.

So Sam must have thought Dean was with him when he left.

So Sam had seen a fake Dean, and thought it was real Dean?

_Shit,_ Dean thought.

So Sam had left with a fake Dean, thinking it was really Dean?

**Author's Note: There you have it! PLEASE REVIEW! Love you all lots. Until next time.**


	8. Caught

**Author's Note: I don't own Supernatural. Thanks everyone for reading & reviewing! This is chapter 8; I think there's going to be 10 or 11 chapters in all.**

* * *

Sam expected his feet to be aching, from all the walking on the rocky trail.

But it wasn't really reality, and he felt fine. A little worn, a little tired maybe. But all together, Sam was back with Dean, and everything was going to be okay, right?

But Sam had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't explain it--something was off. He searched his brother's face for any trace of the same feeling, but Dean's face remained emotionless as he trudged on. _He's thinking,_ Sam guessed. After all, there was a lot to think about.

The path ended suddenly. The trees halted and the hard soil gave away to grass. Sam stepped out of the forest like trail thankfully, hoping to see some light, but the sky remained dimly lit. They were back where Sam had just escaped from, something like a neighborhood, rows of houses. But some held horrors, some held memories, some held demons, and some held an eerie emptiness. Dean looked over the neighborhood.

"Talk about _Nightmare on Elm Street_," he muttered. Sam shifted uncomfortably as his brother examined the area.

"Ok, now what?" Sam blurted out. "You said there's more to face, but what's left?"

"Just the Catcher," Dean replied. Sam paused. He wasn't ready for this. But then again, he didn't think he was ready for Jessica. But Sam had to be ready.

_And, _Sam realized proudly, _I was._

"So what do I have to do?"

_You have to get away from here_

Sam looked up, surprised. "Did you say something?" Sam asked. Dean shook his head, confused. The voice had come suddenly, and he couldn't place the voice. But he knew the speaker. "Did you hear something" Another shake of Dean's head. With a start, Sam realized that there was no doubt that that the voice had come from inside Sam's head. But what did its warning mean?

"Sam, you okay? Sam?" Dean was questioned. Sam told him yeah, he was fine. Whatever. Sam wasn't really concentrating on that right now.

"What do I have to do?" Sam repeated. Dean stared at him for a moment, and for a moment, Dean's eyes turned cold. But then it passed and Dean was back to his old self.

"Not sure . . . guess we'll have to improvise," Dean replied as he walked towards the neighborhood. Sam scratched his head and hurried after Dean.

"Where are we heading?" Another shrug. "Dean!" "DEAN!" At this last yell, Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulders and whirled him around. "Man, you gotta talk to me!"

At Sam's touch Dean froze. His eyes turned cold again, and he flinched away. His brother surveyed Sam in an eerie way. "Sorry, Sam." Where was the 'Sammy?' Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

"I just got this . . . uh . . . feeling the Catchers in that house. It's like the, uh, center of this place. See how it's taller than the rest and all?" Dean explained. Sam gave a small nod and followed Dean into the house.

_Don't follow him, Sammy, don't follow him_

* * *

For the third time that day, Dean wished he had his trusty Impala with him. This walking thing _sucked_. He angrily kicked at a pile of dead leaves as he walked towards the forest trail. That was wear the footprints were found--only one set.

Sam's.

Also for the third time today, Dean tried calling Sam. For some damn reason, it wouldn't even ring this time. Nothing. Like Sam was disconnected from the world.

From Dean.

* * *

Sam didn't know what possessed him to do it. But as they opened the door and stepped inside, Sam took out his cell phone. Three missed calls, all from Dean. "One minute." Dean waited, annoyed. Sam didn't ask Dean about the messages. He barely realized what he was doing-dialing Dean's cell phone number.

Sam never heard the ring.

"I called your cell. Why isn't it ringing?" Sam asked. Dean fumbled around in hic pockets and pulled out the silent cell phone. But someone picked up.

"Sammy-" came the voice on the other hand. But then Dean-Dean?-grabbed the cell and smashed it onto the floor. His eyes turned cold, like ice, he seemed to grow a few feet until he towered over Sammy.

"You're not Dean," Sam muttered. _Do you think? _The real Dean would sarcastically say if he were here.

The figure smiled. "Your right. I'm not. And I'm not some fake dream Dean either."

"Than who are you?" Sam asked, taking a nervous step back.

"My real name doesn't seem to interest anyone," the figure answered. "Everyone seems to refer to me as the Catcher."

**Author's Note: 'K, there was the chapter. Please review! lyl!**


	9. The Catcher

**Author's Note: Sorry I haven't posted since...wow, Wednesday. Thank you to all who reviewed! I don't own Sam, Dean, or Supernatural. The Catcher and the plot are my own ideas. Warning--a little blood and some language. Please review!**

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* * *

**

Sam took a step back in surprise.

It had taken the form of a very tall, lanky man with a shock of dark hair that was cut short so nothing took away from the intensity of its black eyes. He had on a simple black suit and matching shoes. But his face was somewhat gaunt; there was nothing handsome about the form the Catcher had taken on. It laughed.

"Yes, it is in fact true. Nice that someone knows what it means--it's never any fun if I have to explain it to my victim. And might I add, you're by far the most interesting victim I've ever dealt with. Some interesting dreams . . . dreams that deal with the true problems of life. Death. Spirits. Guilt," it explained, pacing around Sam. "It's really too bad about your little girlfriend there. She had such a pretty face. Didn't help her much in the end, now did it? The only thing that really could have helped her . . . was you, Sam. Not that it matters now. Nothing will matter soon. As we speak, your body is being destroyed and I . . . I am growing stronger. Soon Sam and Dean Winchester will be nothing more than two lifeless bodies, their minds trapped in horrible nightmare. It's really too bad. It would be interesting to see what nightmare's Dean have. And oh yes, Dean has nightmares. You're not the only 'tortured' brother. But you don't really ask him, you don't really think about how Dean is at night, now do you?" The Catcher chuckled to itself. "It's amazing how much there is to say. But I really don't have time for this, as enjoyable as this is."

Sam inhaled. "I'm not afraid of you. You can't hurt me here." In response, the Catcher reached out and stroked Sam's cheek with a slender finger. Instantly his cheek burned, as if the finger left a trail of fire. Sam stared in utter confusion.

"That's right," replied the Catcher. It pulled out a knife and toyed with it as it circled Sam. Then, Sam felt something cold and sharp travel down in back, followed by wet, sticky blood. He was waiting . . . waiting to strike . . .

As it completed its circle, Sam attacked. Sam punched the Catcher in the stomach, sending it back a few steps. But the Catcher just laughed and laughed.

* * *

Dean was running.

The dirt path ended and the neighbor was in view. But where to go now? No one had bothered to mention where exactly Sam was trapped. He surveyed the houses, looking for anything different. There's Dean's old house, and that's where Sam and Jessica had lived. There was one house that stood out. It was larger than the rest, and in the very center of the neighborhood. But it wasn't just that

The sky was darker there.

Dean raced forward on a guess, flung the door open and came face-to-face with a very tall man.

"Dean!" exclaimed the man. "How nice of you to join us." The man stepped aside for Dean to walk in, and as Dean took an unsure step, he saw Sam standing in shock, blood dripping down onto the floor from his back.

Dean didn't need to say anything. The two brothers exchanged looks. The man shoved Dean inside, than examined the two.

"Don't try to fight me," the man warned. Catcher, Dean guessed. He mouthed the word to Sam, who gave a small, curt nod in answer. "Yes, the 'Catcher.' As Sam could tell you, I can hurt you two. You two, however, will find that you can't hurt me."

Dean stood absolutely still, contemplating his options. There were very few, and all very risky. Option One: Escape. How would that help? They needed to defeat him and get out of here! Scratch that option. Option Two: Fight. It just said they can't hurt him. There goes another option.

_face it with words_

Dean glanced at Sam. Sam certainly didn't say that. Who did?

_Sam needs to face it_

Dean pushed the matter aside-he'd bring it up with Sam later, maybe. "Sammy," Dean whispered. "Face it with words." Sam gave another small nod, remembering.

"It's not nice to whisper. How about you tell me what you two were talking about?" suggested the Catcher. Sam paused, than took a step forward.

"Okay. I will," Sam responded. Dean inhaled and held his breath. It was all up to Sammy now.

* * *

Sam wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to say. Dean was waiting. The Catcher was waiting. But the Catcher wouldn't wait to destroy Sam's body. It already was.

"You think you know me, but you don't." Everyone, including Sam, was surprised by those words. Encouraged, somehow, Sam continued, "You think you understand me, but you don't. You've been trying to use my fears and worries against me, but you can't. No one-no one _gets_ my fears besides me. It's pointless. You're trying to use pain against me, but pains never bothered me. The truth is, you don't know me."

"I know all about you, Sam," answered the Catcher without missing a beat. Sam took another step.

"You don't!" he found himself yelling. "And you're not going to win either! Because I _know_ this isn't how it's going to end! It's going to end after I found the damn thing that killed Mom, and killed Jess! And you're not going to change that because I won't let you. I won't. Fucking. Let you."

The Catcher looked a little uneasy. "How are you going to stop me? I've been unstoppable since the dawn of time."

"I'm different." There, Sam said it! It was such a relief to admit it. Sam was different. Dean was different. The whole family was different. "I have a purpose. My brother and I, we have a purpose. We're not like the rest. We know what's going on, and we can stop it. We're different."

"Go ahead. Stop it." Sam paused. The Catcher _did_ look weakened, smaller, maybe. Sam could strike now. Win.

"It's time for us to wake up," Sam whispered. His voice got louder. "Now. I'm tired of this game you've been playing." The Catcher was shifted its feet, and now it positively was smaller. Everyone else had cowered in fear. Let him win. This one, this one was fighting back. Sam had defeated the fears. That had weakened it some already.

"Now!" Sam screamed. There was a horrible, ripping noise. The Catcher seemed to break up, black fog spilling out of its last form. The world around Sam and Dean was shattering. Then Sam was being sucked somewhere. Colors and sounds and sights were flying around. He reached out blindly for Dean but Dean was gone. The colors and sounds and sights were fading away to a horrible nothingness.

And then, suddenly, it was all over.

**Author's Note: And that's where I'll leave you. I think there's just one more chapter, two at the most. Please review!**


	10. Between Waking and Sleeping

**Author's Note: I don't own Dean (sadly) or Sam. I'm warning you, this chapter is going to be really short. You don't even need toread this chapter to read the next one. It's just a little idea I had and wanted to put in because it would allow me to make a sequel if I want to. **

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* * *

**

_Neither brother knew where they were._

_Everything had been swirling around the two a second ago, but then it had gone silent. They seemed to be floating through oblivion. There was a dark, eerie emptinesseverywhere. "Sam," Dean tried to say. But when Dean said it, it came out in slow motion, the word slow and echoing._

_Sam didn't hear Dean. He felt like he was shutting down. But, out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw something._

_Dean was shutting down, slowly. It was just like what had happened before he fell in Sam's nightmare. His could no longer hear his heavy breathing or the strange echo._

_Sam's hearing was fading, but he still saw. He saw a person--not Dean, not the Catcher. The person had a shock of short blond hair. She looked so firm, so real. She wasn't hopelessly floating. She was secure. She seemed to walk, no, glide through the air. Before she disappeared, a real person in Sam's dream, he caught a glimpse of her dark eyes._

_Dean couldn't see or talk. His senses were nearly gone. A panic rose in him. Calm down, he told himself. It means you're waking up. Right?_

_Sam could no longer see. Talk. Smell. He didn't think about the girl at all._

_Soon the pain was gone too, and the brothers knew they had lost the ability to feel._

_In a flash, their minds were shut down as well._

_Sam and Dean began to wake._

**Author's Note: Okay, please review and thank you to all who has reviewed. The epilog will be up tomorrow, only because I'm very happy with how it turned out.**


	11. Epilogue

**Author's Note: Here's the epilogue...thank you everybody for reading and reviewing! Everyone who reviews this last chapter WILL be thanked personally. As we all know by now I don't own Dean or Sam. If I did, I wouldn't be bothering writing this right now.** **Some adult content near the end, but just so you know, the two people at the very end did NOT, I repeat, did NOT make love even if it seems that way. **

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* * *

**

Very slowly, Sam Winchester opened his eyes.

He was tempted to sink back into the pillows, but then like a shock his memory returned. The whole ordeal left him groggy. _It felt like a dream, _Sam decided. _Which it was._

His shirt felt damp. Climbing out of the motel bed, he ripped it off. Dean Winchester was already up and sitting at a worn desk, a plate of cold pancakes slathered in syrup sitting in front of him.

"Sleeping Beauty has woken up!" Dean announced. That's when Sam noticed the tall, empty cup resting on his night table. His eyes darted back and forth from the shirt to his cup. Dean started to laugh, so Sam flung the shirt at Dean. The shirt landed in the syrup, which just made Dean laugh even harder.

"Fuck off," Sam muttered. "I'm going to take a shower."

"That's how you face your rescue-er?" Dean asked, but Sam had already shut the door and turned the burning hot water on.

* * *

Dean would never, ever, ever, tell Sam how glad he was that Sam made it out alive. 

For a while back there, he thought it was all over. That Sam was going to stay in this death like sleep forever. Glancing at his brother, he had to suppress a sigh of relief. Sammy's awake; Sammy's alive.

"Can we go now?" Sam asked it had taken them two hours--_two hours!_--to get their asses moving. But now, all the bags were packed, all the meals eaten, everything. Except one tiny little detail Dean had forgotten to tell Sam about.

"Soon," Dean promised. "We need to stop somewhere first. The hospital." Sam eyed him strangely as Dean lugged a bag of weapons to the car and dropped them in the trunk. With a half shrug, Sam loaded the rest of their junk and sat in passenger seat.

The hospital was fairly close by. Within a half hour they had pulled into the crowded parking lot.

"Dean, you hate hospitals. Why the hell are we here?" Sam asked. Dean told him the truth. There was someone here Dean had to see. A few moments later, the brothers were directed to Kevin's room, where the man lay sleeping.

"Uh, hi," Dean said awkwardly. Josie wasn't in the room, to his disappointment. (Not that that was the reason he came) Only her mom sat in the chair next to him. She looked up, her eyes glistening with tears. "Oh god. He's not dead is he?"

The wife, Sarah, shook her head. A smile blossomed on his lips. "He woke from his coma about three hours ago," she breathed. About the time they woke up.

"I'm glad to hear that," Dean confessed. "Give him this note when he wakes up, okay?" Sarah nodded, told Dean how nice it was to see him, how nice it was for him to come, and gave him a small hug.

"That was the waitress's dad?" Sam questioned as they quietly shut the door. Dean nodded. "So what was in the note?" Dean didn't answer, he just walked ahead. The note had been somewhat easy to write. It didn't sound like Dean. It was almost like a form letter. A thank you note you send to a grandparent. A quick thank you, an apology.

_Kevin-_

_Everything's okay. Sam's awake, and the thing that made him sleep is dead. I can't thank you enough for all your help, and am sincerely sorry about what I put you and your family through. Hope you get better quick. And if you hear from my dad, please call me. He's missing._

_Dean Winchester _

_

* * *

_

Dean had let Sam drive from the hospital. If he had a reason, he didn't tell Sam.

"Hey Sam. You did good back there," Dean said awkwardly, referring to the final face off. Sam's "Uh, thanks" was just as awkward. Everything seemed awkward that day, mainly the silence that seemed to drift through the car as Sam drove.

"I meant to ask you. When we were in the-the dream, did you ever, try to talk to me? I mean, send me a message through your mind or something?" Sam asked. Dean stared at him for a while.

"I didn't Sam. I was going to ask you the same question," Dean replied. So who had contacted Sam and Dean? It wasn't the Catcher, that was for sure.

"I should have known," Dean added. "That was a girl's voice." Suddenly a shiver crept down Sam's back. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"You know who that sounded like?"

"No, who?" There was a long silence as Sam stared ahead. "Sam, who'd it sound like?"

"It sounded like Jessica."

* * *

_That night Sam dreamt again._

_Dean had just dropped him back off in his apartment. Cookies sat on the table. Smiling, Sam took one. There was an eerie silence as he opened the door--Jess was no where to be seen. He lay down on the bed, content. Then he felt something warm press onto his forehead..._

_He opened his eyes. It was a hand. A warm hand, full of life and love. "Wake up, Sam," whispered a familiar voice. Sam sat up. And there was Jessica, sitting on his bed. He reached out and pulled her to him, kissing her and embracing her. She's alive, she's alive, she's alive._

_"I'm so sorry," Sam muttered, staring into her huge eyes. She put a slender finger to his lips._

_"I'll always be here for you. I promise," she responded. Sam smiled once more and drew her into him. She fell on top of him. They melted together. They were one person._

_But then she pulled away. Someone was calling. "Wake up, Sam. Wake up." Dean. His older brother, his amazing older brother._

_"I don't want to wake up," he whispered. He tried to kiss her but she refused. Instead, Jess took Sam's hand._

_"You have to wake up now. I promise I'll come again." And with that she faded away, the whole dreaming was fading away to morning._

_Sam had once told somebody that when Jess came into his dreams, he would know. He would know that it was really her and not some hissing, bloody, girl that happened to have Jess's golden locks. And you know what?_

_Sam knew._

**The end**


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